


Anything Like Me

by PrettyTheWorld, TrueIllusion



Series: Fatherhood [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Brian is a Midnight Binger, Canon Compliant, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, One Shot, Parenthood, Parenting Drama, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 19:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18321575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyTheWorld/pseuds/PrettyTheWorld, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: When Justin came home from his studio and found Brian in the kitchen making dinner, he knew something was wrong.Brian didn’t cook. Even after 15 years of knowing the man and spending most of them in a relationship with him, Justin could count the times Brian had made them dinner on one hand. Apparently, tonight he was adding one more to the tally.***Fifteen-year-old Gus is spending the summer with Brian and Justin in New York. He decides to test the limits of Brian's relatively lenient parenting style, with unintended consequences.





	Anything Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> We wrote this story round-robin style as our first collaborative effort. It was a ton of fun, and we hope you all enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Title borrowed from the Brad Paisley song of the same name.

When Justin came home from his studio and found Brian in the kitchen making dinner, he knew something was wrong.

Brian didn’t cook. Even after 15 years of knowing the man and spending most of them in a relationship with him, Justin could count the times Brian had made them dinner on one hand. Apparently, tonight he was adding one more to the tally.

Justin barely had time to put his bag down before he heard Brian mutter, “Fuck!” The expletive was followed by the clatter of a spoon, and when Justin walked into the kitchen, he found Brian running cold water over two of his fingers.

Justin walked up behind Brian and wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist, kissing his neck and the tiny sliver of his shoulder that was exposed through the neckline of his shirt.

“What’s wrong, dear?” he said in his best 1950s housewife voice as he let go of Brian’s waist and surveyed the scene. There was a pot of what appeared to be marinara sauce at much more of a boil than it should have been, and a second pot of pasta sitting slightly cockeyed on the burner, with a spoon lying in a small puddle of starchy water on the counter.

“Fucking water splashed up out of the pot and burned my goddamned finger,” Brian said, pulling his finger out of the stream of water for a moment and studying it before sticking it back in.

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” Justin placed his hands on Brian’s shoulders and started massaging them, noticing immediately how tense his partner was.

When all Brian said in response to that was a clipped, “No,” it gave Justin another confirmation that something definitely wasn’t right. Normally, Brian would have had a lewd response to a question like that -- probably insinuating that he’d much rather have Justin’s mouth on something else other than his finger.

So Justin tried a different route, still trying to ferret out whatever was bothering his partner.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of my loving husband cooking me dinner?” he asked, picking up the discarded spoon and giving the pasta a stir, before reaching up and turning down the burner for the sauce.

Brian turned off the water and gingerly dried his hand off with a towel. “I wouldn’t give me too much credit,” he said. “It’s spaghetti and jarred marinara sauce.”

“I see garlic bread in the oven too.”

“It’s that frozen shit you bought at Costco.”

“Maybe so, but you’re still cooking it. My question stands. Why the sudden domesticity? And what are you doing home from work anyway? Didn’t you have a meeting this afternoon?”

Brian sighed and turned to lean back against the counter, crossing his arms. “The client cancelled it,” he said. “Said they’d already found the agency they wanted to go with.”

Wondering if perhaps he’d hit paydirt on finding out what was going on with Brian, Justin walked over in front of his husband, uncrossing his arms and pushing his own fingers in between Brian’s until their hands were both interlaced, before standing on tiptoe to give Brian a kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Brian shrugged and pulled his hands away, turning his attention back to the stove. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Their product was shit anyhow. Good riddance to them.”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t it. Back to the drawing board.

Justin was watching Brian’s back -- his slumped posture and the tense muscles that were so clearly visible -- still trying to figure out what on earth was wrong, when Brian suddenly blurted out, “Am I a good father?”

“Are you…?” Justin cocked his head to the side, still trying to process what he’d just been handed. “Where’s Gus?” he asked, suddenly noticing the absence of their son. The apartment was sizable by New York City standards, and it wouldn’t necessarily have made sense for Gus to stay in Brian’s line of vision, but teenage boys came with noise, and now that Justin was paying attention, he realized it was suspiciously quiet. 

Brian shrugged. “Downstairs in 12E with that kid about his age, the one with the super millennial name and the bad haircut.”

“Brody?” Justin supplied, suppressing a grin at Brian’s choice of descriptors. He received a grunt of affirmation as Brian lifted a spoon of glutinous-looking pasta out of the water then let it fall back down with a plop. 

“Fuck,” he muttered again. 

Justin quickly pulled himself back to the root of his most recent concern, understanding that Brian’s true frustration was far beyond his apparent inability to boil pasta to an edible consistency. “Why are you asking if you’re a good father? Did something happen with Gus?”

Brian turned to face him again, this time rolling his eyes. “No, I’m fucking collecting quotes for my autobiography,” he snapped. 

Justin flinched, taking a step back. “Oooo-kay,” he breathed. “Sorry I asked.” There was definitely more to this story, but clearly Brian was not ready to have a rational, adult discussion about it. “I’m gonna go change.”

He made it about ten steps away before Brian’s voice rang out again, preceded by a sigh. “Justin. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” Now Brian sounded plaintive, and it was enough to make Justin turn around again and walk back toward him, this time facing him from the opposite side of the island. 

“I’m here to talk whenever you want,” he offered simply. 

Brian’s lips folded in on themselves, and then he said, “You didn’t answer my first question.” There was an edge of accusation in his voice, but experience had taught Justin that Brian was more than likely directing it at himself, as if he was the one experiencing the doubt most of all.

“Of course you’re a good father,” Justin replied. “I guess I didn’t have an an answer because I don’t understand why you’d even need to ask. You _know_ how I feel about that.” 

Brian shrugged noncommittally. “Well, thanks.” 

Justin raised an eyebrow. “You don’t agree?”

“Let’s just say the jury isn’t unanimous on this one.” 

Before Justin could respond, the timer on the oven started dinging. Brian swore softly again, looking around for oven mitts, and noticed them nearby where Justin was standing. Wordlessly, Justin snagged the mitts off the counter and walked over to hand them to Brian. He was about to ask another question, but Brian held up his hand to stop him.

“I told Gus to be home for dinner,” he said, sliding on one of the mitts. “I don’t want to be discussing this when he walks in.” 

Justin watched Brian remove the slightly too-browned garlic bread from the oven and slide it from its tray onto a cutting board, debating what he should say next. Eventually, he settled on, “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Go ahead and change,” Brian said, waving him toward the bedroom. He picked up a large serrated knife, rolling his eyes again as he noticed Justin eying him warily. “Calm down. That would be too dramatic, even for me.” 

Justin forced himself to laugh and left the room, understanding that Brian needed some normalcy to return by the time Gus came home, though it was frustrating to not know what had transpired between them. As he started changing, he realized that he had somehow gotten paint in places far beyond what should have been its reach, so he decided to take a quick shower, also hoping that it would give him a little more time to try to piece together his thoughts. 

Normally, Brian and Gus had a fantastic relationship. Justin supposed some of that was because they generally only had Gus on extended weekends or over holidays, as his school schedule permitted. However, Gus had managed to get all his parents to agree to him spending an entire summer in New York, and so far it had seemed to be going well, at least as far as Justin could tell. Evidently, though, the honeymoon period was about to end -- or it already had.

Still, though, Justin couldn’t begin to fathom what had happened that would have made Brian question his ability as a father. Against all odds, Brian had proven time and time again how committed he was to the role. Even Melanie rarely found reason to complain about Brian’s parenting choices these days -- or, perhaps even more surprising, she and Brian often tended to align in areas where Lindsay preferred to err more on the side of caution. The bottom line, though, was that there was no doubt that Brian loved Gus fiercely, and always tried to do what he felt was in his son’s best interest. Justin guessed that this time, it just so happened that Gus disagreed. Or, maybe Brian really had fucked up, but it still didn’t discount all the other good he represented in Gus’ life. And, Justin figured, considering Gus was hanging out with a friend and still planning to come home for dinner, it couldn’t be all that bad, right? 

Wrong.

When Justin reentered the kitchen, Gus was home again, but unlike the more carefree environment earlier, when they’d all last been home together that morning, now there was an undeniable tension in the air. Gus was clearly keeping his distance from his dad, sitting on the end of the sofa that was furthest from the kitchen, sullen eyes glued to his iPhone. Brian was trying to look like said avoidance wasn’t ruining his entire evening as he slapped pieces of garlic bread onto a platter, creating a sort of haphazard pyramid. 

“Dinner smells great!” Justin chirped, internally cringing at how fake it sounded. Unsurprisingly, neither looked up.

Brian’s focus was solely on the leaning tower of bread as he carried the platter over to the table, setting it down with a harder-than-usual plunk.

The spaghetti and the marinara sauce were already on the table alongside a salad Justin hadn’t noticed earlier, with three plates set around the ornate dining room table that Justin just had to have when they were selecting furniture for the apartment. He knew it wasn’t Brian’s taste -- Brian preferred more modern, minimalist pieces with a lot of metal and mostly black, white or grey -- but Justin loved the intricate design on the backs of the chairs and the cherry wood finish. And all he’d had to do to get his way was bat his eyes in the furniture store and then blow Brian in the bathroom -- Justin’s secret weapon that would get him anything he wanted.

Justin wanted to smile at the memory, but he was quickly brought back to reality when Brian started plunking down plates and silverware. It was as if he was trying to make so much noise that Gus would have no choice but to acknowledge him -- only Gus was doing no such thing.

Gus tapped out what Justin assumed was probably a text message with his thumbs, then snickered at something that was on his phone and shook his head, looking so much like Brian with that mannerism. The older Gus got, the more it looked like if it were possible for Brian to have a baby all by himself, Gus would have been it. Justin hadn’t known teenage Brian -- obviously, since Justin would have been in elementary school when Brian graduated high school -- but he’d seen pictures, mostly at Debbie’s, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

When Justin turned his attention back to what was happening in the closest corner of the large combination living/dining/kitchen area of their apartment, Brian was pouring red wine into two glasses, filling one of them almost to the top and setting it down in front of the chair where he usually sat.

Justin raised an eyebrow as Brian looked up, and Brian raised his own in response, seemingly daring Justin to say something, but he didn’t. Brian removed his napkin from the table and unfolded it with a flourish as he sank down into his chair, more heavily than usual. Gus, still not looking up from his phone, rose up from the sofa and walked over to the table, sitting down in his own usual chair. Every few seconds, he’d tap out a new message, usually accompanied with a smile or a soft laugh or an eye roll.

Justin looked back and forth from Brian to Gus, waiting for Brian to say something about their customary no-phones-at-the-table rule, but Brian was plating up pasta, concentrating on the task with surgical precision. So Justin cleared his throat and gave Gus a pointed look. Gus sighed heavily and tapped out one more message before sliding the phone into his pocket.

“So, how was your day?” Justin asked, hoping one of his two dining companions might break their stalemate and jump in.

Gus was working a summer internship at some trendy startup and usually had some things to say when they all sat down for dinner at the end of the day, but today, the only response Justin got was a shrug with no eye contact at all. God, this kid was so Brian’s son. Brian himself, meanwhile, said nothing.

Both Gus and Brian were devoting far too much concentration to arranging their plates, while Justin looked between them, still wondering what the hell had happened earlier that had Gus giving Brian the silent treatment and Brian upset enough to need to distract himself by cooking dinner.

All three of them ate in silence for a few minutes, their only soundtrack being that of forks and knives scraping against plates and ice clinking in their water glasses. Gus was a few bites into his meal when he let his fork fall to the plate and muttered, “Christ, can’t you even cook spaghetti right?”

And that was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, resulting in Brian getting up, throwing his napkin down on the table, and stalking out of the room and down the hallway toward his and Justin’s bedroom.

Justin watched Brian’s back as he retreated down the hallway, before casting Gus a look and getting up to follow Brian.

He found Brian standing in front of the window, looking out toward the park, one hand resting on the wall and the other in his pocket.

“Should have brought the damn wine,” he grumbled, without turning around.

“Your glass, or the bottle?”

Brian snorted. “Bottle’s empty.”

“Do you want me to get the glass?” Justin asked, keeping all judgment out of his voice. 

“Do what you want,” Brian replied, a bitter edge to his tone. “That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? I mean, god fucking forbid I try to do something responsible for once. Why start now?”

Justin frowned, trying to assemble the jigsaw puzzle of Brian’s words. It was starting to make a little more sense, what might’ve happened, but it was going to be difficult obtaining the information from Brian, who was clearly still nursing a bruised ego, among other things. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he decided, walking back out of the room. Maybe if Brian had a little time to brood, and Justin could glean a few more details, they’d be able to have a more productive conversation.

When he returned to the main area of the apartment, Gus was still sitting at the table, full plate pushed away and his phone back out, though he didn’t look as invested in what he was reading now. He looked up when Justin walked in, and gave him a guilty-looking half-smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Justin echoed. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?” He sat back down at the table, picking up his own wine glass and taking a sip. 

Gus shrugged. “I don’t really know. It was nothing.” 

Justin furrowed his brow, clearly indicating that he wasn’t buying it. “You and your dad never fight. Obviously it was something.” 

“He’s the one who stormed out.” 

“Was it really necessary to insult his cooking, though?” Justin asked, honestly searching for an answer. 

Gus snorted, sounding much like his father had just minutes before. “It’s not like he _can’t_ make food. He just doesn’t usually. I don’t know what you’d call--” he gestured at the meal spread out on the table, “--this.”

Justin sighed. “Well, whatever his reason, it was nice that he tried to make dinner for all of us. It saved me from having to do it after work.”

“Did it really, though?” Gus asked, his snarky tone starting to grate on Justin’s nerves more than it ever had before. Justin felt defensive of Brian fairly often, and toward many who failed to give his husband the credit he deserved, but he’d never anticipated having to address it with Brian’s -- with _their_ \-- own son. 

“Well, I’m not cooking you another meal, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Justin said sharply. “So I guess if you’re hungry still, you’ll have to figure it out.” 

Gus’ eyes snapped up from his phone display, caught off-guard by Justin’s change in demeanor. “Why are you mad at me too?” he asked, sounding more the bratty teenager than Justin had ever heard him before. 

“I’m not mad,” Justin said, standing up from the table, his wine glass in hand. “I’m just completely uninterested in being in the middle of whatever’s going on between you and Brian, so long as neither of you is willing to talk about it. You two are so much more alike than you even know.” 

There was a long silence as Gus’ hunger got to the better of him and he scooped some salad into the empty bowl at his place setting then squeezed an unhealthy amount of Ranch dressing over it. He speared a forkful and chewed for a moment, swallowing before he said, “Everyone says that about kids and their parents.”

“Maybe sometimes,” Justin replied, pushing in his chair, then picking up Brian’s still mostly-full wine glass with his free hand. “But not Brian. That would be his worst nightmare.”

Unsurprisingly, Gus gave Justin a confused look. He knew very little about Brian’s family, mainly just that they didn’t have any involvement with him; Justin was pretty sure Brian’s mom and sister didn’t even know Gus existed, and Brian preferred it that way. Anytime Gus had asked about Brian’s life growing up, it was glossed over or the conversation was diverted. Maybe it was time for that to change. 

“What do you mean?” Gus asked, now sounding a little nervous. 

“Ask your dad,” Justin said, shrugging. He started to walk back toward the bedroom to check on Brian, but turned back with one final thought. “Check the fridge if you’re hungry. I’ll take care of the food later, but maybe you could help wash the other dishes?” 

Seeming bewildered, Gus simply said, “Okay.”

Justin gave a single nod of satisfaction and walked out of the room. 

The master bedroom was quiet when Justin returned, and he didn’t immediately see Brian, especially as the evening light had dimmed the room by that point. Slowly, his eyes focused in on Brian’s form, slumped in the armchair in the corner of the room.

“Here’s your wine,” he said, walking over to his husband and profferring the glass. 

Brian grunted something that sounded vaguely like, “Thanks,” and took it, draining more than half in one long series of gulps.

Justin watched him wordlessly, setting his own glass down on an end table. He suspected Brian would probably drink enough for the both of them that night. 

“Did Gus leave again?” Brian asked quietly, sounding like he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know the answer. 

Justin shook his head. “No, I asked if he’d help with the dishes.”

Brian looked up, raising an eyebrow. “And he agreed?”

“More or less. He knows I think he was being a brat.” 

“Is the food salvageable?” 

Justin chuckled lightly. “Of course it is. It’s fine. I’ll take some for lunch tomorrow. I don’t think the quality is why any of us lost our appetites tonight.” 

“Quality is subjective,” Brian muttered, and Justin had a feeling he wasn’t talking about overcooked pasta any longer. He was quiet for several seconds, taking another swig of his wine before resting it on the arm of the chair, absently running the tip of his finger back and forth over the rim of the glass. “I knew it was going to happen.”

“What?” Justin crossed the room and sat down on the other arm of the chair, reaching up to massage the back of Brian’s neck with the fingertips of his left hand.

“That I’d turn out to be a shitty father. How could I not? I’ve never even seen a functional father-son relationship.” Brian snorted and turned his head to look toward the window again, although it was clear that he wasn’t really looking at anything at all.

“You’re not a shitty father.” Justin continued massaging Brian’s neck, trying to soften the knots that were the physical manifestation of Brian’s stress and frustration. “You’re a really great father.”

“No offense, but how do you know? Good ol’ Craig wasn’t exactly winning any father-of-the-year awards, if I recall.”

“He wasn’t all bad.” Justin shifted his weight a little on the arm of the chair and moved his hands down to Brian’s shoulders. “When I was a kid, he actually was a pretty good dad. He just couldn’t deal with it when he found out I was gay.”

“Have you talked to him lately?”

“No. Why would I?” The last Justin had heard, Craig was remarried to some younger woman and had another kid. The replacement kid, he guessed, after Molly told him off too when she found out why he’d kicked 17-year-old Justin out of the house. “I haven’t talked to him since the day he had me arrested outside of his store. You know that.” Instead of asking why Brian would be asking a question he already knew the answer to, Justin made the decision to change gears again, bringing the topic of conversation back to the more pressing issue of Brian and Gus. “Why do you think you’re a shitty father? What happened between you and Gus?”

“I told him he couldn’t go to a club with some kid who has a fake ID and said he could get Gus one too.”

Justin was failing to see how this made Brian a shitty father -- in fact, he thought it made Brian a good father -- although Brian’s earlier statement about doing something responsible for once was now starting to make more sense. “Sounds to me like you love him and are just trying to keep him safe,” Justin said, keeping his voice gentle because he knew he was entering a territory that was likely filled with landmines, given Brian’s relationship with his own father.

Brian shrugged his shoulders beneath Justin’s hands. “Doesn’t do me much good if he hates me.”

Justin suppressed a chuckle at Brian’s histrionics and hoped that he managed to keep his expression neutral. “He doesn’t hate you. He might be upset with you right now because he didn’t get what he wanted, but he doesn’t hate you. That’s part of being a parent -- sometimes you have to say no to things.”

“Well, he made sure I knew he thought I was being a hypocrite. That he knew Michael and I used to sneak out and go to Babylon. I don’t know who the fuck told him that.”

“You and Michael were older than he is now, too.”

“Maybe so, but he isn’t wrong that I had a fake ID and I’d been using it.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember me getting into Babylon with Vic’s membership card, the night I chased you down and came between you and your two tricks.” Justin smiled at the memory of the night he’d refused to give up on Brian -- a night that might have changed the course of both of their lives forever.

“Great, so we’re both hypocrites. Cheers to that!” Brian turned up his wine glass and finished the last of it.

Justin sighed. “No, Brian, we’re not. We were kids, and we made mistakes. And you bet your ass if our parents knew we what we were doing, they’d have been telling us no.”

“Yours, maybe,” Brian scoffed. “Mine didn’t give a shit, as long as I was out of their way.”

“Debbie gave a shit, though.” Justin rubbed his hands lightly up and down Brian’s arms. “If she’d known, I bet she would have tried to stop you.”

“She did know. I mean, she didn’t endorse it, but she didn’t exactly stop us either. I’m not sure why. Maybe she had Vic spying on us or something.”

While Justin was a little surprised Debbie had known about Brian’s and Michael’s escapades and hadn’t done anything, he did have a pretty good idea why Debbie might not have been too inclined to become the disciplinarian in that instance, particularly with Brian -- whose home life was unstable at best and unsafe at worst. But now probably wasn’t the right time to bring that up.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” Justin said. “Gus is too young to be doing that. You weren’t wrong, and you’re not a hypocrite.”

All of Brian’s attention seemed to be focused on his empty wine glass as he continued running his finger around the rim. “He said I didn’t know shit about being a father,” he said, his voice suddenly soft and pensive. “Maybe he's right.”

“Brian, teenagers say things like that. Things they don’t mean. He didn’t mean that.”

“How do you know?” Brian turned suddenly to look at Justin over his shoulder, his eyes full of doubt and worry. “Maybe there’s a reason I’ve only been allowed weekends or one week at a time. Maybe I’m not cut out for this and Mel and Linds know it.”

“If that was the case, they wouldn’t have agreed to let him come down here for the whole summer.”

“Well, he probably wants to go back home now.” Brian looked down and let out a long, heavy breath.

“I don’t think he does. I think he’s happy here, with us. With you.”

“He fucking hates me.”

“Again, he doesn’t hate you.” Justin slid down from the arm of the chair into Brian’s lap, wrapping his arms around Brian’s shoulders and giving him a kiss, which Brian hesitantly returned. “You’re being way too hard on yourself.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Justin kissed Brian again. “This’ll blow over. He’ll get over it. Now, he’s just as stubborn as you, so it might take a few days, but I promise he will. Just trust me on that.” Justin gently slipped the wine glass out from under Brian’s hand as he stood up. “I’m gonna go check on Gus and put the leftovers away. Why don’t you go take a shower and try to relax? Maybe I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Brian didn’t respond, but reluctantly got up from the chair as well. Before Justin could move out of his reach, Brian pulled him in close, arms wrapping tightly around his smaller frame. “Thank you,” he breathed, barely more than a whisper, but his implication was loud and clear.

Justin leaned up and kissed him deeply. “Think about that, and I’ll come find you soon,” he promised. Before he left, he walked back over to where he had initially discarded his own wine glass, picked it up, and walked it to Brian. “You need this more than me.” 

***

As Justin headed back to the kitchen, part of Brian was tempted to follow behind, at a discreet distance, to see what transpired between his husband and son. As much as he criticized his own fathering skills at times, he was genuinely in awe of Justin’s, and how he always seemed to know what to say or do, and how to maintain the right balance of authority and warmth. Parenting was already sort of a twilight zone for Brian, but the last three hours or so had thrown him right into the epicenter. 

Brian knew perfectly well that he wasn’t known for being warm and fuzzy, nor did he want to be -- at least not by most people. There were a few rare exceptions in his life, namely, Justin, Gus, and sometimes Michael, who got to see him in his more vulnerable states, and usually that was fine, but having it all thrown into question with one of them, like it was now, well, quite frankly, it fucking sucked. More than anything, Brian wanted to put his walls up and act like he didn’t care -- to let Gus believe that nothing he said had bothered him, his word was final, and that was that -- but he knew that wasn't going to happen. Not this time, and not with his only son. 

So then, what did he do? As he headed toward the bathroom, wine glass in hand, that was the million dollar question niggling at his brain. 

He waited for the water to heat up in the shower, his earlier conversation with Gus running through his head as he discarded and gathered his clothes, tossing them into the laundry basket in their walk-in closet. 

It had started innocuously enough, if not downright pleasant. When Brian realized he’d be able to leave work earlier than planned, he’d swung by Gus’ summer job, knowing he’d be finishing up at a similar time. Gus had seem delighted at the prospect of spending a few hours with him, and they’d decided to go to the MoMA to check out a socio-political contemporary exhibit that had received rave reviews around the Kinnetik office. It pleased Brian to know that his son had an appreciation for fine arts, though with two artists among his parents, perhaps it was no surprise that it would absorb somehow. 

On the way home from the museum was when things started to spin out of control, and by the time they’d arrived back at the apartment, Brian had found himself in a completely unfamiliar experience with his teenage son. Sure, he’d been a teenager once himself, but this was uncharted territory. For one, he hadn’t dared to speak to his parents the way Gus was addressing him now -- mainly because Jack would’ve sent him into the middle of next week, and there was absolutely no way Brian was going to lay a hand on his own son, or even consider it. The very thought made him feel sick. 

Everything about the situation Gus had described made him feel uneasy. His son couldn’t even legally drive yet, and he was wanting to go out late at night, unaccompanied by a responsible adult, to a place that would undoubtedly serve him alcohol, unreliable substances, and very likely any number of sexually-transmitted diseases. It was an unquestionable recipe for disaster -- and if _he_ thought so, he didn’t even want to fathom what Lindsay would think if (read: when) she found out what their son had gotten into, especially if she had any inkling that Brian had approved. He’d never be allowed to spend time alone with Gus again.

Of course, now he wondered if Gus would even want that with him. Seriously, fuck parenting. 

Except being Gus’ parent was everything to Brian, in ways he’d never even imagined. Back when Lindsay had asked him to be the sperm donor for the baby she desperately wanted with Melanie, he’d agreed, figuring it was a convenient excuse to jerk off during the workday, and little to no additional expectation after that. Melanie had been crystal clear that aside from a cup of jizz, they wanted nothing more from him, and that was fine.

But then, nine months later, there was Gus -- this perfect little bundle of baby boy who stole Brian’s heart from the first time the words “Sonny Boy” had passed between his lips. The moniker had come out before Brian even had a chance to connect it back to Jack and what that could mean. He knew he never wanted to be his father, not in any way, shape, or form. But somehow the name fit, and it stuck, and Brian wondered -- or maybe he hoped -- that when Jack had started using the name, he’d done so with love, or at least, in so much as he could. 

And Brian thought he’d been doing okay, maybe even better than that. But then his son had said the words he’d dreaded, and he’d said them loud and precise, in a tone Brian had never heard directed toward him, at least not from the one human being he’d put on the earth. 

_“You don’t know shit about being a father.”_

Well, fuck. Maybe he didn’t. He knew Justin would argue -- and he had, but really, was Gus wrong? What did Brian really know about fatherhood? As he’d pointed out to Justin, it wasn’t like he had a shining example to emulate. Michael hadn’t had a father either, and Deb was the one-woman band of the Novotny household, so that wasn’t helpful, and his primary interaction with his now-father-in-law had been attempted homicide by Oldsmobile. So, really, Brian was unanimously fucked, and Gus was the one who had to suffer, by no choice of his own. 

“Hey,” Justin’s voice broke into his thoughts and brought Brian back to reality. The bathroom was steamy now, so Brian had no idea how long he’d been standing there naked with the water running. He shook his head, trying to bring himself back to reality. 

“Hey.” 

Justin grinned, pulling off his shirt. “Were you planning on getting in, or are we trying to recreate the steam room at the Liberty Gym?” 

Brian gave a half-hearted smirk, reaching out for Justin and pulling him closer by the waistband of his khaki shorts. He pressed a chaste kiss to Justin’s lips, then released him and stepped into the shower, leaving the glass door ajar.

“Everything okay?” he asked once Justin had finished disrobing and joined him under the spray. The hot water felt good as it pounded down on his tense shoulders, and Justin immediately reached up to resume the massage he’d started earlier, gently directing Brian to lean his weight against the shower wall so that he could increase his pressure. Brian pressed his forehead to the cool marble, trying to visualize the tension leaving his body. 

“He was actually putting the food away when I went back out, and then he rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher,” Justin said, moving his hands down to pay attention to the lower part of Brian’s trapezius muscle. 

Brian could only manage an affirmative grunt as Justin hit a particularly tricky knot in his back and painstakingly started to work it out. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this man who seemed to sense and take care of his needs before he even had a chance to verbalize them, if he was even willing to go that far. 

Similarly, if things eventually smoothed over with Gus, Brian knew he’d have Justin to thank. “Glad he has you,” he said, reaching back to pull Justin closer in whatever way he could manage. His hand landed on the back of Justin’s thigh, just below the prominent swell of his ass. 

Justin pressed his lips to the back of Brian’s shoulder and then gently prodded him to turn around, leaning up to kiss him deeply when he did. “I’m glad he has _you._ ” 

Brian shook his head, not really wanting to have this conversation, especially not as Justin’s hands started moving around his abdomen, gradually moving lower, toward the dips above his hip bones, which were spots he knew drove Brian crazy. 

“I’m the last thing he needs,” Brian muttered. “He made that clear today.” 

“I still don’t understand why you think that,” Justin argued, hands moving even lower and sending a shiver through Brian’s body. Eventually, his right hand wrapped around Brian’s cock, beginning a slow stroke that finally piqued Brian’s arousal. 

Brian opened his mouth to respond, but Justin cut him off, pressing his left index finger to Brian’s lips to silence him.

“I’d be careful what I say next if I were you,” he warned, eyelashes fluttering coquettishly as he increased the speed of his hand. “If I recall correctly, self-pity makes your dick soft.” 

Brian rolled his eyes, both annoyed and amused that he was being bested by his own words, but he simply closed his mouth, mimicking a zipper against his lips and settled back against the shower wall, smiling gently as he watched Justin drop to his knees.

He knew the night was probably far from over, but at least, for now, he could enjoy this. 

Post-shower, Brian wasn’t necessarily feeling any better about the situation with Gus, but thanks to Justin and his talented mouth, he was feeling a little more relaxed, at least. 

“I told him he should talk to you,” Justin said, glancing over at Brian as they got dressed back in their bedroom. 

“And?” Brian asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Justin finished pulling his t-shirt over his head before he responded. “He seemed receptive.” 

Brian nodded, tongue tucked into his cheek, as he contemplated that. On one hand, a legitimately serious, potentially soul-baring conversation with his son scared the shit out of him. On the other hand, if Gus was actually willing to talk with him and hear him out, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad in the end. Now, he just had to work up the balls to walk back into the living room and let it happen. 

“Go talk to him,” Justin said, walking up behind Brian and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, as if he’d read Brian’s mind. “It’ll be fine.”

That was easy for Justin to say, from his perch of seemingly perfect parentdom. Brian still didn’t understand how Justin did it -- how he always managed to do and say all the right things, and it seemed so effortless. Meanwhile, Brian always felt like he was just trying not to fuck it all up. He tried -- he really did -- because he loved Gus more than life itself. More than he ever could have imagined he could love another human being. But that apparently wasn’t enough.

Apparently, the only way to keep Gus happy was to give him what he wanted. And the second Brian didn’t do that, he didn’t know shit.

Brian stared at their closed bedroom door, knowing that just on the other side was a conversation he really didn’t want to have and, quite frankly, had no idea how to start. But he knew he didn’t have a choice.

He wasn’t afraid of Gus -- not at all. He was Gus’ father, and he knew he was the one in charge. (He also still had at least a few inches on him in height, for now.) What he _was_ afraid of was doing the wrong thing. Saying the wrong thing.

To be honest, he was afraid of Gus not loving him anymore.

And that was a sobering thought. Not a thought Brian Kinney had entertained very much, either. For the most part, he was able to keep people at arm’s length when he needed to, to keep himself from getting hurt. Just being able to admit that self-preservation was his motivation in keeping his distance at all had taken a lot of work and a lot of talking things out with Justin.

Those few people he’d let in -- the ones he’d let himself be vulnerable with -- held the key. They were the ones he’d let his walls down for, and they were the ones who had the power to hurt him.

Now, he was afraid Gus was about to do exactly that.

“Brian?” Justin still had his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Seriously, just go talk to him. He doesn’t know he hurt you. He needs to know that.” With that, Justin squeezed Brian’s shoulder and released him, giving him a gentle push in the direction of the door.

Inhaling deeply, Brian took a step forward before he could talk himself out of it.

But when he swung open their bedroom door, he simultaneously heard the soft ‘click’ of Gus’ door closing, and Gus’ voice on the other side, apparently talking to a friend on the phone.

Brian sighed and threw his hands up in the air. Before he could say anything, he felt Justin’s hands on his back, guiding him toward the living room and onto the sofa, where Justin sat down beside of him and turned the television on.

“He’ll have to come out eventually,” Justin said. “It’s not even nine o’clock yet -- he won’t stay in there all night. When he comes out, you can talk.”

Justin’s prediction, however, turned out to be incorrect. Gus spent the better part of the next hour talking on the phone to the same kid he’d spent most of the afternoon with, and the only other sounds they heard from Gus’ bedroom were the sounds of him getting ready for bed, showering and brushing his teeth in his private bathroom. The door to his bedroom stayed closed, effectively eliminating their line of communication as well.

“You can go knock on the door, you know,” Justin said, clearly tired of Brian’s passive-aggressive grousing about nothing because he was frustrated about Gus. “You pay the mortgage. It’s your place. You can even just open the damn door if you want to. I'm pretty sure that's part of your right as a parent.” He snorted. “My parents used to regularly threaten to remove mine anytime I slammed it.” 

Brian wasn’t going to do any of that, although his lack of action came more out of stubbornness and a tiny bit of fear than out of actual respect for his son’s privacy.

A little before eleven, the sliver of light that had been showing underneath of Gus’ door was replaced with darkness. Evidently, he and Gus weren’t talking tonight.

Brian and Justin went to bed shortly thereafter, but Brian wasn’t able to bring his thoughts to enough of an idle to be able to fall asleep, in spite of Justin’s best efforts to relax him. Instead, he tossed and turned for two hours, somehow not waking Justin, who seemed to be dead to the world.

This was a common occurrence for Brian, who had always spent most of his time in bed fucking rather than sleeping. And even now that he only had one sex partner -- Justin -- he still didn’t get a whole lot of sleep and would often find himself wandering out into the kitchen on particularly sleepless nights in search of a midnight snack. Usually, he chose the pint of Ben & Jerry’s that Justin kept in the freezer door.

Brian rolled out of bed and padded down the hallway, surprised to see a light on in the living room, and even more surprised to find Gus on the couch, the pint of Ben & Jerry’s resting on his lap with a spoon stuck in it.

“You too, huh?” Brian walked into the kitchen, opening the silverware drawer and digging out a spoon for himself.

“Yeah.” Gus took another bite of Chubby Hubby. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Sinking down heavily onto the couch next to his son, Brian dug his own spoon into the ice cream, then stuck it into his mouth. He knew he should really be using the time to talk to Gus, but he still didn’t know where to start. Gus wasn’t saying anything either, but he was at least sharing the ice cream, so that was something.

When the ice cream was gone, however, and his convenient distraction along with it, Brian figured it was time to start talking, whether he wanted to or not.

“I love you… You know that, right?” Brian leaned forward and placed the empty container on the coffee table, their two spoons propped against the side of it, then ran a hand through his hair nervously.

Gus cocked his head to the side and knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. “Yeah…?” he said, letting his voice trail off and making it sound more like a question than a statement of fact.

“I know you’ve gotten used to me being the ‘cool dad,’ saying yes to things a lot of your friends’ parents say no to, but this time I had to say no.” Brian paused and took a breath, pulling his lips into his mouth for a moment before he continued. “Because I know what happens at those clubs. And I know you’re thinking that you’d just go and dance with your friend and sneak a drink or two and have a good time, but there are people who go to those places looking for… fresh meat.” Brian hated objectifying his son in that way, but he knew that was how it was. He’d seen enough fuckers like Gary Sapperstein and his ilk, who loved nothing more than to prey on kids who had snuck into the club with fake IDs. They’d drug them, take them home, and have their way with them. And it didn’t matter how smart the kid was -- these guys were smarter. Hell, the Sap had even tried it with Justin -- who was certainly no idiot and had the SAT score to prove it -- and Justin had been ashamed enough of what happened at that party that it had taken him years to tell Brian about it.

“Someone could drug you and…” --Brian paused to try to think of how to say this without delving into things he didn’t want to think about-- “...hurt you. Especially here. Gus, this isn’t Toronto, and it’s not even Pittsburgh. It’s New York City. And the places that wouldn’t question your fake ID are the exact places you’ll find those kinds of people. That’s why I don’t want you going there. I want you safe. Because I love you. It’s not because I don’t want you to have fun or because I want to be an asshole -- it’s because you mean a lot to me, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Or worse. And I don’t want to be one of those fucking parents who follows their kid out and sneaks around watching them, and doesn’t allow them to handle anything on their own. But this isn’t something you should have to ‘handle.’ There’s a lot of shit you shouldn’t have to worry about yet.” He sighed, glancing over at Gus. “There’s a lot of shit you shouldn’t have to worry about ever.” 

Neither of them said anything for a few moments -- moments that felt like an eternity to Brian. Gus looked down, a somewhat guilty expression on his face, and picked a stray bit of lint off of his pajama pants.

Gus ended up being the first one to speak, though he still wasn’t looking at Brian.

“When Justin was talking to me, he said something about it being your worst nightmare to be like your father. What did he mean by that? Is that what he did to you?”

Gus’ question caught Brian off-guard. He wondered what had led Justin to bring up Jack Kinney, self-processed dumb son-of-a-bitch. The man who had spent most of eighteen years -- and too-many brief moments after that too -- making Brian feel no better than the dirt on the bottom of his steel-toed boot.

Brian stifled a laugh. “I should have been so lucky. Let’s just say I know what it’s like to have parents who truly don’t give a shit about you.” He paused, absently picking at his fingers. “Parents who would rather smack you around than give you a hug.”

“What?” Gus looked up at Brian, bewildered.

Brian found himself gazing directly into Gus’ eyes -- carbon copies of his own, still full of the hope and innocence of childhood even though he was on the precipice of adulthood -- and he wondered how his own father had ever been able to look him in the eye and still snarl out insults and call him names and push him down and slap him across the face.

Brian closed his eyes right as the image of his son’s face started to blur from the tears that had formed unbidden in them. Fuck, this was not how he wanted this conversation to go.

“Dad?” Gus’ voice was soft now, and Brian felt Gus’ hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s okay.” Brian cut him off, his own voice much less strong than he would have liked it to be at that moment. “You didn’t know.” Brian hadn’t wanted him to know either, but he guessed that didn’t matter now. “And you’re right, maybe I don’t know shit about being a father. But it’s because that’s…” Brian swallowed, trying to force the emotion he didn’t want to be feeling down with it. “That’s all I really knew.”

When Brian opened his eyes, Gus was looking at him with so much regret and sadness that it killed Brian to realize he’d put those emotions there. He’d never intended to share any of this with his son -- he’d wanted to protect him from the shitshow of a legacy Jack Kinney had left behind. The legacy that Brian wanted so desperately to break free from and not perpetuate.

“I didn’t mean that,” Gus said. “I was angry, that’s all. I’m a teenager. We say stupid shit all the time.”

Brian closed his eyes again, taking a breath as his lips rolled almost involuntarily into his mouth. He knew his son was trying to change the mood with humor, much like he was often wont to do, but he still had something he needed to say. “I never want you to feel the way he made me feel. I never want you to feel like I don’t care, because I do.”

“I know, Dad.”

Brian felt the couch cushions shift and opened his eyes to see Gus turned slightly toward him, his apology clear in his eyes before it ever came out of his mouth.

“I know you love me,” Gus said softly, hesitantly reaching his hands out for Brian’s. “And you’re actually a really great dad. I know I’m lucky.”

Gus’ words went straight to Brian’s heart, but not in the hurtful way his earlier statement had. These words told him everything he needed to know. They gave him the reassurance he’d been embarrassingly desperate to receive and so afraid he wouldn’t get.

He pulled Gus into a hug and let his eyes close again, trying to push down the emotions that were continuing to bubble up inside of him. Feeling the warmth of this human being he’d had a hand in creating, who was turning out to be a really great kid as well.

“I’m sorry,” Gus whispered.

“Me too.”

They held each other another few seconds before Brian gently pulled back. “We fucking ate all of Justin’s ice cream,” he realized. 

“Shit, we did,” Gus said, looking guiltily toward the carnage of their earlier exploits. 

“It’s alright,” a third, sleepy voice joined the conversation, coming from behind them. “Justin has another pint.”

Both Kinney men turned around to see Justin standing in the room’s entrance, watching them with an amused smile, his hair tousled from sleep. 

“You do? I only saw this one,” Gus admitted. “It’s not my favorite, but ice cream is…” he trailed off, shrugging as if that was explanation enough. 

“That’s your dad’s emergency stash,” Justin clarified. 

“No,” Brian corrected, almost insistently. “It’s yours, and I steal from it.”

Justin laughed, sounding more awake. “Wrong. Mine is in a place you will never find. That’s there solely for your nocturnal cravings.”

Brian narrowed his eyes, contemplating this, then gave Justin a sharp look. “And you fucking chose _Chubby. Hubby._ ” It was clearly not posed as a question.

Gus laughed loudly, covering his mouth, and completely disregarding that his father’s glare was now directed toward him.

Justin simply shrugged, despite the mischief now sparkling in his eyes. “Doesn’t look like it works. Goodnight, guys.” He winked at Brian and turned back toward their bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. 

Brian looked at at Gus and offered a smile. “Think you can sleep better now?”

“Yeah,” Gus said, smiling back. “I feel a lot better. It sucks fighting with you. I’m glad we don’t do it often.” 

“Agreed.” 

They gathered the ice cream remnants and carried everything to the kitchen. Gus threw away the empty carton while Brian quickly washed the spoons, and then they started to walk toward their respective rooms, pausing at the point where they would need to part ways.

“I really love you, Dad,” Gus said. “And I’m sorry again for giving you a hard time about the club.”

Brian nodded. “I’m sorry too. And look,” he paused, hoping he wouldn’t live to regret what he was about to say. “I know there’s a lot you’re curious about and maybe even want to try. I’d rather you do so in a safe environment, so… if it ever comes up, just… ask me. And I’ll think about it.” 

Gus’ eyes widened. “Are you saying you’d smoke up with me?” 

“I said I’d _think_ about it. Don’t push your luck.” 

The look on Gus’ face indicated he knew it was time to stop, so he simply nodded, then stepped forward and gave Brian one more hug. “Thanks, Dad.” 

“Love you, Sonny Boy.” 

When Brian went back into the bedroom, Justin was still awake, sitting with his back against the headboard and scrolling through something on his phone. He closed whatever he was looking at and set his phone to the side as Brian crawled up beside him. 

“How much did you hear?” Brian asked, pulling one of Justin’s hands between his and into his lap. 

“Not much,” Justin admitted. “I woke up and you weren’t here, so I went out to check on you and just caught the tail end of your conversation with Gus. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it sounded like things were wrapping up. It went well?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” Brian said, lacing his fingers with Justin’s. “I was just honest with him.” 

“And it worked? Imagine that!” Justin feigned shock, but quickly resumed his normal demeanor before Brian could protest. “Seriously. I’m glad you talked to him. I’m sure it meant a lot to him too.” 

Brian reflected on the conversation and felt warmth coursing through him. It had been difficult to put himself on the line and be vulnerable with Gus, but it had felt good in the end, especially hearing how Gus felt about him.

“He told me I’m a really great dad.”

Justin scooted closer to Brian, moving to straddle his thighs so that he could look at him face-to-face. “That’s because you are.” He punctuated his statement with a firm kiss. 

Brian moved his hands to rest on Justin’s hips, anchoring him. “He said you mentioned my father.”

Immediately Justin’s eyes cast downward, looking a little guilty. “I just commented that you wouldn’t want to be like your dad, and he asked why. I said he should ask you.” 

Brian pursed his lips and nodded. “And he did. I’m not upset. I just didn’t expect it.” 

“How did it go?” Justin asked, gently massaging Brian’s shoulders and biceps as he watched Brian struggle to formulate a response. 

“It was… uncomfortable,” Brian admitted finally. “It’s like coming out in a way, admitting you’re the product of an abusive home, least of all to your own fucking kid.” 

Justin nodded sympathetically, his fingers working a soothing, rhythmic pattern along Brian’s upper arms. “I’m sure it was hard, but hopefully it helped him to understand you a little bit more too. He deserves that much… and so do you.” 

Brian shrugged noncommittally, eyes trained downward. “It was a long time ago.”

“It was,” Justin agreed. “But it still shaped the man you would become. The difference is that it didn’t _define_ the man you are. It doesn’t get to dictate your relationship with your son or the type of father you are either. It can inform what you don’t want to be, but you get to decide everything else, and I think you’re doing a pretty damn spectacular job. It sounds like Gus agrees.” 

A long moment of silence passed between them as Brian absorbed Justin’s words, and Justin watched Brian for a reaction, moving his hands to the back of Brian’s neck. When Brian finally looked up again, Justin leaned down to kiss him before he could speak. Brian accepted eagerly, grateful for the alternative release of his emotions as his arms wrapped tightly around Justin’s smaller body. 

They stayed connected as best they could as Justin gently peeled off Brian’s clothes, followed by his own, and lowered them both to the bed, allowing their bodies to continue their communication by offering Brian comfort in the best way he knew how. Later, as they both drifted off to sleep, naked limbs tangled under the covers, Brian pressed a kiss to Justin’s shoulder and whispered, “Thank you.” 

***

Gus was awake and in the kitchen pouring himself a bowl of cereal by the time Justin emerged the next morning. 

“Morning,” Gus said, watching to see if his dad was close behind, but Justin pulled the bedroom door shut behind him before continuing into the room. 

“Morning,” Justin echoed as he shuffled over to the counter and flipped the switch to start the coffee maker. “Sleep well?”

“Finally, yeah,” Gus said, turning to search the refrigerator for milk. He paused, picking up Brian’s carton of almond milk and wrinkled his nose. “Um, do we have any of the real stuff?”

Justin laughed. “Yeah, top shelf, behind the guava juice.” 

“Ugh.” Gus made a face as he pushed the guava juice out of the way, revealing the jug of “real” milk he’d been searching for. “How the fuck does he drink that stuff?”

“What? The guava juice or the almond milk?”

“The guava juice. I mean, it even looks disgusting. It looks like you’re drinking a big glass of Pepto.” He set his cereal bowl down on the counter and twisted the cap off the milk.

“I don’t know.” Justin shrugged. “But he’s been drinking it for years, so maybe it’s the fountain of youth. Or at the very least, the antidote to Chubby Hubby ice cream.”

“Sorry about that, again.” Gus poured a generous amount of milk over his cereal and shoved the jug back into the refrigerator, bumping the door with his hip to close it.

“Hey, like I said last night, that wasn’t mine.” Justin grinned. “I bought that for your dad. I started doing that after he ate the last of my ice cream one too many times. When he finishes one pint, I buy him another. I’m pretty sure he eats more ice cream than I do, actually,” he added in a hushed tone. “Don’t tell him that though.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Gus laughed as he carried his cereal bowl over to the table and sat down with it. “So where is Dad?” he asked, his voice muffled by a mouthful of cereal and milk.

“He’s still asleep.” Justin crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “I just came out to make coffee.”

“Is he okay?” Gus couldn’t deny that he was worried about his dad. He’d never really seen him get emotional before. For all of his life, all he could remember was his dad being this strong, no-nonsense, take-no-shit-from-anyone kind of person. It was hard to picture him as a kid whose parents hit him. Although maybe that was why he didn’t take any crap from anyone now.

“I think so. But I know he had a stressful week at work, so I wanted to let him sleep. It’s rare that I wake up before he does.” The coffee pot beeped behind Justin as it finished its cycle, and he turned to pour himself a mug before joining Gus at the table. “Your dad has a hard time letting people in,” he continued. “It took me years to get there with him, and I know he’s trying with you. Just be patient with him, and understand that he’s doing his best. He wants better for you than what he had growing up.” 

“I never knew about any of that.” Gus pushed a few pieces of cereal around in the milk with the back of his spoon. “I mean, I knew he didn’t really have anything to do with his family anymore, but I never imagined… that.” Gus had never even met his grandmother. He knew that his grandfather had died of lung cancer when he was only a baby, and that they’d met briefly, once, but all his mom had ever told him was that Brian and the rest of his family didn’t see each other anymore. He’d always wondered why, but he’d never asked. Now that he knew why, he wasn’t quite sure what to think or feel. But he did know that a part of him was angry that his dad had been treated that way.

“He wanted to protect you,” Justin said, in between sips of his coffee. “He didn’t want you to have to worry about it. Or them. It’s hard for him to talk about. Even I don’t really know that much.”

Gus heard the click of a doorknob turning and looked up to see his dad shuffling down the short hallway into the kitchen, in his pajama pants and no shirt, with the worst case of bedhead Gus had ever seen. He yawned as he walked into the kitchen, then poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it over to the table.

“Much about what?” Brian asked, only registering the tail-end of the conversation he’d walked in on. He picked up the sugar container on the table and poured, staring blearily as a long stream made its way into the dark liquid. 

Gus watched, vaguely amused. For as much as his dad was diet conscious, a candy bar was probably healthier than the coffee he was about to drink. But then again, he was learning more and more every day that Brian was a bit of a study in paradoxes. 

“About the health benefits of guava juice,” Justin supplied, casting Gus a sly glance. Brian simply humphed in response, without diverting his attention from his coffee.

It appeared that Brian wasn’t yet above functioning at a neanderthal level, so Gus took advantage of his inattentiveness to truly study his dad. Aside from his atrocious coif, he looked pretty normal from the neck up, if not still a bit sleepy. His chest and torso looked pretty normal too, which was a relief, as Gus wondered, knowing what he did now, if he’d ever overlooked scars or other telltale marks from his dad’s childhood. He glanced over at Justin, who was watching him carefully and gave him a small, knowing smile, shaking his head almost imperceptibly as if to remind Gus not to make a big deal about anything. 

Gus didn’t even know what he’d say if he did. 

But really, he didn’t want to hear more about his dad’s painful past; instead, he wanted to do what he could to make sure he was a positive part of Brian’s future. It wasn’t to say he wouldn’t do stupid things once in awhile, and they’d probably fight many more times in their lives, but for now, with their previous argument as water under the bridge, and a summer’s worth of time in New York ahead of him, Gus knew that what he wanted most was to take advantage of as many opportunities to share experiences with his dad as he could. (And admittedly, he was a little excited to follow up, at some point, on Brian’s sort-of offer to allow Gus to engage in some substance-related curiosities. Though Gus had never been high himself, he had a feeling that his dad would be fun as fuck if he loosened up a little, and it would be a very memorable experience.) 

Brian seemed to come to life a little more once the majority of his first cup of coffee was consumed, and he looked up at Gus, almost seeming a little nervous. “So, Sonny Boy. What are your plans for today?” 

It was Saturday, so Gus didn’t have to work, and he hoped Brian didn’t either, though his dad’s work schedule was all over the place, depending on what projects he had going on at any given time. “I’m pretty open,” he said.

Brian nodded and fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug, not saying anything. Gus realized this was his chance to speak up. 

“I was hoping maybe you’d want to hang out today?” He hated how hesitant his voice came out, but by the way his dad immediately perked up and smiled, Gus realized it didn’t matter. 

It was clear that Brian was trying to not respond too enthusiastically to Gus’ request, which made both Gus and Justin hide their own smiles as they waited for his answer. “Are… are you sure?” he asked, sounding like the request might be too good to be true. “You don’t have plans with Brody?”

Gus shook his head. “Nope, I don’t know what he’s doing today. But maybe we could do a museum or something? Or, like, do you think you could get company seats for the Mets game tonight?” 

His dad gave up trying to remain impassive and smiled genuinely, nodding. “I think both are definite possibilities. Is that what you want to do?”

“Yeah.” Gus turned to Justin. “Wanna come?”

Justin smiled but shook his head. “No thanks, Gus-man. I’ll let you and your dad spend some time together today. I’ve gotta work on a commission at the studio, but maybe I’ll meet you guys for a late lunch in between?” 

“Why don’t we go to that little Greek bistro place you like in Astoria?” Brian suggested. “It’ll be easy to get to the stadium from there, and then you can either join us for the game, or head back to work after?” 

“Sounds good,” Justin agreed. “You’ll still have a lot of time to kill, though, unless you want to eat later. I figured you guys would probably end up grabbing food at the stadium too.”

“Ohh, stadium hot dogs!” Gus enthused, then laughed as his dad pretended to gag. 

Justin smirked. “Don’t let him fool you, Gus. If half of yours disappears, I’ll give you two guesses where it went… Speaking of which, I should probably run to the grocery store before I head to the studio. Seems we’re out of ice cream.”

“ _Chubby Hubby_ ,” Gus added for extra emphasis, mainly because he knew this was probably the one time he’d get away with it. 

Brian rolled his eyes, then gave Justin a pointed look and said, “Not sure who’s going to be eating _your_ hot dog in the near future,” which was greeted by the simultaneous responses of “Whatever you say, dear,” from Justin and, “Dad! Gross!” from Gus. At the very least, everyone seemed content to let the subject drop after that, much to Gus’ relief. While he knew as well as anyone with eyes and a pulse that his dad and Justin had an incredibly active sex life, the less he _actually_ knew about it, the better. 

But he wasn't going to think about that now. Instead, he chose to focus on the fact that he now had a day ahead of him that would be spent with one of his favorite people on the planet, in ways that would hopefully make them both forget about what had happened the day before. 

And later, as Brian cast a sidelong glance at his son while chewing surreptitiously on the bite of hot dog he’d stolen as Gus focused intently on some sort of dispute in the outfield, he finally felt a sense of calm overtake him again. 

They’d had a great day together, first at Museum of Mathematics (Gus’ choice, but Brian was surprised by how much he’d enjoyed himself), then over kebabs with Justin, followed by the Museum of the Moving Image (Brian’s choice), and now the Mets game, and it truly seemed that their dispute over Gus’ choice in unsupervised extracurricular activities was water under the bridge. Brian kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but thankfully, it never did. 

Realistically, they both knew that there would be more arguments, and more hurtful words and feelings between them. And sometimes, it would take more than a simple conversation, a pint of ice cream, and some understanding to resolve it. That was life. But for now, they were going to count this as a win, chalk it up to a lesson learned, and move on. 

And as Brian watched his fifteen-year-old son look back at him and smile, he knew nothing sounded better.


End file.
